Free Bins in the Break Room

They went at the “free” bins in the break room like vultures to a fresh carcass. I see one middle aged pudgy woman picking up and setting back down a half-wrapped mugged with “Seasons Greetings” around the handle, a relief of snowflakes, red and green version or the blue and white one, old glittery christmasy unloved things, things, look at this free stuff, and grimy handed handling of them as if they are worth something and 7 or 8 day employees crowd around these little boxes as if they were the fountain of youth and I sit and drink tea and try not to laugh or scowl to ferociously. Fools, fools all, me too, bigger fool probably, for not letting simple dumb things, like discarded reindeer wrapping paper, make me smile at all at all. My christmas tree was finally started to brown outside my back door. I left a table near the dumpster for the cat to leap on top of on his way to the window, instead he took a running leap over the side of it and I heard him bounce off the ledge once or twice while trying to read. It is a horrible phantasm to be abruptly awakened by the sound of claws dragging violently across glass and wood panelling. The table had to go, and to goodwill it did, my neighbors, my landlords, sent me a nice passive email about it, but the tree I shall let dry out there and remind everyone that death happens and one frosty morning in December will be the last time you hang tiny silvery orbs of ornaments on the poor displaced branches of a noble fir or douglas fir or a fresh rare ghost pine taken down off the face of the high sierra. I want my corpse wrapped in baby blue reindeer wrapping paper and then emailed to the ritual gravesite of Tutankhamun.

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